118 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



periences have been mine. The higher pathways 

 have I trodden. In the whirling midst of the 

 great eddy of life have I been borne. From its 

 center have I been cast to the quiet waters of 

 its edges. Here in the old pasture, with a little 

 leisure, a little peace, a canvas shelter, the bless- 

 ing of content doth fall upon my soul and I can 

 gaze upon the center of the eddy without a de- 

 sire to be again in its whirling midst; can gaze 

 and be content in being again a boy. 



Wednesday, June 14. Up this morn to meet 

 again a cloudy sky, a murky atmosphere and the 

 rumbling of thunder in the distant heavens. 

 After breakfast I rested for a time in* the door 

 of the tent waiting for the rain which every 

 moment threatened to break forth. Meanwhile 

 I dressed my hard-shell turtle, which yielded 

 much shell and entrails, little flesh, but enough 

 to flavor a good sized bowl of broth. When 

 caught this turtle hissed like a goose. This 

 seemed its only means of defense as it did not 

 snap or attempt to bite. Its meat proved sweet 

 and well flavored, as was also the broth. 



Along the margin of the water, both up and 

 down the bed of the stream which flows before 

 my tent, there grows in great profusion a hand- 

 some trailing herb with roundish ovate leaves 

 and large golden-yellow wheel-shaped flowers. 

 It is the moneywort or creeping loosestrife, 43 a 



L\t> <(/ < nummularia'L. 



